


Shy But Determined

by ficsandcatsandficsandcats



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandcatsandficsandcats/pseuds/ficsandcatsandficsandcats
Summary: Reader Request:  Can I ask you a scenario with Jaskier and a shy reader? Maybe she is the "adopted" little sister of Geralt and he is super protective with her. Can I ask you to add some smut if you are comfortable with that?
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Kudos: 29





	Shy But Determined

By the end of the night you were to kiss Jaskier.

You’d spent months with Geralt, the witcher who had taken you under his wing after finding you, the sole survivor of a razed village, and Jaskier, the bard who had joined your surrogate brother on his travels. You’d heard that bards were notorious flirts and you’d hoped to get a taste of it yourself but Jaskier had been oddly formal and distant with you. You suspected this had something to do with the way you say Geralt squinting in your direction when the two of you were any distance away from him but you didn’t bother to ask, knowing if Geralt had threatened him that he wouldn’t dare confess it. Instead you worked on developing your friendship with Jaskier who proved a kind, fun companion even if he kept a barrier of about two feet away from you at all times. There were moments you thought you might have seen him look at you a beat too long, the softest whisper of longing in his eyes when you laughed or read quietly by the fire. It was just enough for you to hatch a plan that you finally had the chance to follow through with tonight.

Geralt had very begrudgingly agreed to let you join them at the betrothal party Jaskier had been asked to perform at. You didn’t need to ask why Geralt had to be there in the first place. The bard had a reputation and more than a few enemies at court. Well, quite a few courts actually. You’d leapt at the chance to join, arguing that you would be safer with them than waiting at camp with Roach. You had your own nefarious purposes of course but Geralt didn’t need to know about that.

That’s how you found yourself here, standing to the side and watching as Jaskier entertained while Geralt sat at a table drinking wine glumly. Jaskier was a different person when he performed than he usually was around you. You say the bard you’d heard stories of and regretted that you couldn’t see him more often, though a part of you wasn’t sure you’d be able to handle it. You weren’t naïve but you were shy, in part because of how sheltered Geralt had kept you. In a way it was probably better that you’d grown to know Jaskier as a friend without the tension of something more there. Until now, on your times, in your time. Still as Jaskier finished his song and walked towards where you stood you felt your heart flip in your chest and tried to hold onto the courage you’d summoned.

“You look enchanting tonight,” Jaskier said. You could hear the scraping of a chair somewhere behind you and knew that Geralt was likely rising to come over and break up this moment between the two of you but when you turned to give him an exasperated look you saw he was looking past you. You followed his gaze and saw a beautiful woman entering the hall, long dark tresses and the most extraordinary violet eyes.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you heard Jaskier mutter and you looked back to him, his expression sour.

“Oh is that…?”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg. Perpetual thorn in my side and the ruination of all of Geralt’s good sense,” Jaskier spat. You looked back towards Geralt but found he was already crossing the room towards the infamous sorceress.

“Do you suppose they’ll be talking for some time?” you asked. Jaskier snorted.

“Yeah, talking, sure that’s what they’ll be doing,” he replied sarcastically. His eyes widened slightly as he realized he was talking with you and he started to stammer. “I mean, that is, I don’t mean to…”

“Oh for heaven’s sake Jaskier I’m not a child,” you said, exasperation making your words harsher than you intended.

“No, you’re not at all,” he said, his eyes trailing over your body in a gesture bolder than he’d ever made. You glanced back towards Geralt and found him and Yennefer talking heatedly in a world of their own. You grabbed Jaskier’s hand and turned, nearly dragging him as you wove through the people around you who had formed a crowd to look at the fabled Yennefer.

“Where are we going?” Jaskier asked.

“I’m… not sure,” you admitted, “Somewhere quiet.”

“I may know a place,” he said. You rolled your eyes. Of course he did.

“Alright then,” you said, stopping so suddenly he nearly bumped into you, “Lead the way.”

He led you through a pair of discreet doors by the kitchens that led to the outside. You were disappointed at first, but he kept walking until you saw he was guiding you to the large hedge maze in the back of the palace. The hedges weren’t the plain green pillars you’d expected but were covered in blooms of varying hues creating a dazzling display illuminated by the torches that lit your way.

“I don’t mean to complain but I am a little worried that we won’t find our way back out,” you said after the third twisty turn Jaskier led you through.

“Oh I can get us back out,” he said reassuringly, “Geralt would never admit it but I’m quite good at tracking. I promise you will not die in a hedge. Well, at least not tonight. Not with me.”

You giggled and he finally pulled you to a stop in front of a little stone bench. He gestured for you to sit first and you felt your face warming a bit. It had been easier to plan this and imagine it when you had the barrier of Geralt there between you and your inhibitions. Now you were alone with Jaskier, a moment you’d longed for, but the reality of it was unsettling and scary and exciting.

“What did you want to talk about?” Jaskier asked.

“What?”

“Well I figured when you said you wanted quiet it was because there was something you wanted to talk about. I’m listening,” he said encouragingly.

“Oh,” you said, twiddling your thumbs a bit and looking at your lap, “Well… Damn. This was easier when you were barding.”

“When I was what?” he asked, his voice amused.

“You know, you were barding. Flitting around flirting and winking and singing bawdy songs,” you explained.

“I do not flit,” he scoffed, but you could see he wasn’t truly offended. “Come on, Y/N, what’s wrong? Would it be easier if I waggled my eyebrows at you while you spoke?”

“I don’t think it… well actually it kind of does,” you admitted as he devilishly waggled his eyebrows in a way that was so ridiculous you felt some of the pressure ease away. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I would never,” he said sincerely.

“I wanted a moment alone so I could… kiss you,” you said the last two words hurriedly and stared at your hands breathlessly. True to his word he didn’t laugh. He didn’t do or say anything. You waited in agonizing silence until you saw his hand loom into view, tuck under your chin and gently guide your face up to meet his eyes.

“Are you certain?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, though your heart felt it would leap out of your chest. He nodded, eyes falling to your mouth, his tongue briefly darting out to wet his lips. His eyes flicked back up to your eyes and you saw a soft smile playing about his lips as he leaned in closer, pausing just inches from your mouth.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this since the moment I met you,” he whispered. You inhaled sharply in surprise and then your lips met, the kiss tender and sweet. His arms wrapped around your shoulders and you let your arms snake around his neck as he deepened the kiss. You were receptive and curious, following his lead as he gently slipped his tongue past your slightly parted lips. You uttered a soft moan and his hands roamed a bit lower, dropping to your waist. He pulled back reluctantly and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, eyes gazing into yours, inquisitive and adoring.

“Why did you stop?” you asked, trying not to sound as pouty as you felt. He chuckled, fingers tracing the curve of your jawline and the fullness of your lips.

“I just wanted to check in with you,” he said, leaning in to give you a soft peck on the lips, “What do you want, Y/N?”

“What do you want?” you asked in return, shying away from the answer. He chuckled lowly, a soft, rumbling sound.

“I want to make you feel good,” he said. The words were vague and tempting.

“What did you have in mind?” you asked. He laughed.

“So many things but for now I would like to lean how you make yourself feel good,” he answered.

“Oh!” you said, blinking in surprise.

“Is that alright?” he asked, planting a soft kiss against your cheek.

“Yes it’s just not…”

“What? Not very barding of me?” he asked teasingly. You stick your tongue out at him and he laughs.

“Look,” you said, tone serious and a little chastising, “I’m not going to pretend to have a lot of experience with this so I’d like to follow your lead.”

“I’m sorry if it seemed like I was making fun. In truth I’m rather honored,” he said, “I’m ok with leading as long as you promise to talk to me and let me know if I’m going too fast or if you get uncomfortable.”

“Of course,” you said, holding out your hand to shake on it, trying to lighten the mood. He laughed and took your hand, gave it a firm shake, and then used it to pull you into another kiss. His mouth traveled from yours to your neck, one hand supporting your back and the other pulling your skirt aside. His hand traveled from your ankle up your calf, skirting up your thigh where he paused and tapped once, an inquisitive gesture that you understood and parted your legs so he could continue his exploration. His fingers brushed up against the apex of your thighs and you squirmed against him, hungry for more but trying not to be impatient.

“More?” he asked, murmuring the question into the crook of your neck.

“More,” you answered.

“Show me,” he said, pulling the hand away to take your hand and guide it back under with him. He gently placed your hand where his had been and you pushed aside your smallclothes and took his hand, placing it where you had countless times as you imagined moments much like this one. Your fingers shadowed his, pressing him closer and moving his hand, coaxing and pursuing and reveling in the feeling of his touch. Though the movements were mimicking your own the sensation was still different. His hand larger yet somehow more nimble than your own, his skin a little rougher but no less tender. He seemed content to follow your motions, murmuring encouragement into your neck and jaw and against your mouth. He slid his hand away but pressed yours to continue where he had been as his hand dipped lower and traced your entrance tentatively before sliding a finger in you. The sudden sensation ripped a moan from you and he paused, looking carefully at your face to check for signs of discomfort.

“More,” you insisted, and he smiled and complied, your hands working in complementary rhythm towards your release.

“Does that feel good?” he asked. You open your eyes and look at him, taking in the slightly smug smile he has, blue eyes watching you with the well-earned confidence of someone who knows what they’re doing but still wants to hear that you know it too.

“Yes,” the answer coming in a sigh that he steals from your lips in a kiss. He doesn’t ask any more questions after that, only watches and continues to watch your face, admiring how beautiful you look and feel in his arms, how much he’s wanted this and how he can’t believe it’s finally happening and that it’s worth the disemboweling he will suffer if Geralt ever finds out. He’d die 10 times to bring you this pleasure even once, but he hopes to all the gods that he’ll get to show you all the wonderful ways he can coax these sounds from you and turn you into the quivering, wanting creature you’ve become for him. When you come for him, he holds you steady with his arms until your breathing steadies and you pull your hand away, bringing his with it. You stay like that for some time, resting in his arms as he kisses your temple and hums a quiet tune you can’t place.

“We should return soon,” he says, though he sounds about as excited about it as you feel.

“I suppose so,” you admit begrudgingly.

“I’m not usually one to kiss and tell in any case but I think it would be better if we maybe didn’t tell Geralt about this,” Jaskier suggests. You look up at him with wide eyes and he worries he’s offended you.

“Geralt can never know about this,” you say, your voice deadly serious, “He would kill you and send me to a convent. We never speak of this again.”

“Ah, yes, well, glad we’re on the same page,” Jaskier says, a little disappointment flitting into his eyes. You pause him and turn him back around to face you, pulling him in for another kiss.

“That doesn’t mean we can never do this again,” you clarify, “Just… no songs about it, ok?”

“No songs without an alias, absolutely,” he says, and hurries towards forward before you can protest, already murmuring rhymes for “rose hedge” as you go.


End file.
